Mangled Asphalt
by Felicity P
Summary: Summary: Takes place middle mid S3. House and Wilson have been fighting and their friendship has hit rock bottom, can House having an accident bring reconciliation between them. House  Wilson strong friendship only HurtComfort
1. Crash

**Disclaimer: **I don't own House or any of its characters.

**Summary:** Takes place after the events with Detective Tritter. House and Wilson have been fighting and their friendship has hit rock bottom, can House having an accident bring reconciliation between them. House / Wilson strong friendship only (Hurt/Comfort)

**Mangled Asphalt**

**Chapter 1: ****Crash**

Pain…so much pain, that's what he felt as he slowly opened his eyes. He felt cold; the pavement was chilled beneath his skin. For a moment he lay disoriented, looking forward, watching as two red taillights began to speed away. The sound of the screeching tires echoing eerily into the darkness. His mind was reeling. He tried to process the details of what had just happened. Tilting his head slightly, he looked over at his mangled motorcycle that lay several yards away. A groan escaped his lips and his face contorted in pain.

"O-oh God!" he choked.

He could feel the constant flow of pain coursing up and down through his limbs. There was no one, for the streets were empty. No one was coming to help him. He cursed himself now for letting himself get into this situation. He had known when leaving the hospital that he shouldn't be riding his motorcycle. He could see that the weather had been deteriorating. Rain had continued on and off through the day. His pride had kept him from asking Wilson for a ride home.

He cursed himself for letting things between them get this bad, for pushing his friend so far away. Their relationship had been stressed the last few months in the aftermath of the events with Tritter. After a heated argument they had had recently they hadn't spoken a word to each other for the past two weeks. They had been avoiding each other as much as was possible for two men that worked together, and when they did see each other a look of distain was past between them. Now, ironically Wilson was the one person he'd do anything to see at this moment.

_  
'Does that mean I care?'_ The answer to his question would mean his efforts to hide behind his self made formula for all relationships had failed, because his logic was wrong.

He never would admit to being afraid, but he was. It was a constant in his life, much like the pain that he tried to endure every day.

_'Fear…a fear of what?'_ He asked himself.

Maybe, it was a fear of being alone, no that wasn't it he was always alone. Through the years he had come to a conclusion by weighing the pros and cons of two subjects that had tormented him. His decision had been the most logical, or at least that is what he tried to believe. The logic was this: that the pain of being alone was far more tolerable than the pain of loosing those that you love so dearly, thus bringing him to the significant conclusion that he was better off alone. Having acquaintances leads to talking, talking leads to bonding, bonding leads to friendship, friendship leads to caring, caring leads to trust, trust leads to love, and love leads to pain.

_'To betrayal'_ he added cynically.

These were the eight steps to his formula for disaster, though to most it appeared as nothing more than twisted logic. It was twisted in a way; it was the twisted logic of a man who had experienced a lifetime of emotional hurt.

'Wilson' His thoughts returned again to the younger man as he pictured the oncologist in his mind. He was his friend, his only one for that matter. He had always tried to keep Wilson at the 4th step on the formula scale, but was that even possible to do? He was safe as long as Wilson was only a friend right? He groaned inwardly as he felt reality winning the argument with his reasoning. His logic was faulty and he knew it, because he knew deep inside that you couldn't really have a friendship without caring, or without trust already being there. Maybe that's why he tried so hard to fight it everyday, because living in denial felt better. Better than knowing he had failed to keep everyone completely away, and that someday the pain of loss or the pain of betrayal would find him again.

House let his thoughts drift back to his situation. His philosophical arguments were not getting him anywhere. He let his mind assess his body a limb at a time, but most of the pain had slowed due to his lack of movement. His abdomen felt strange a slight clinching pain resided there. He was a diagnostician he could guess what was wrong.  
_  
'I'm going to die'_ he told himself.

_'Alone'_

He let a deep frown crease his features as he swallowed nervously, letting a tear escape his glazed eyes.

_'It's ironic'_ he thought as the truth hit him hard.

_  
'I don't really want to die alone after all.'_

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A/N: I wrote this several months ago. It's in dedication to my friend Graham who was killed when someone ran a red light. He was young and still had so much life left to live, and I'll miss him everyday.


	2. A Call for Help

Disclaimer: I don't own House or any of its characters

**Mangled Asphalt**

**Chapter 2: A Call for Help**

The familiar noise of his beeper sounding off caused House to become alert. He saw a small light flickering a few feet away, but it might as well have been a mile in his condition.

A sudden realization dawned him and with it came a glimmer of hope.

Slowly, he began pulling his left arm out from under his chest, where it had been lying pinned beneath him. Instantly he regretted his decision to move. Reawakened pain surged through him with a vengeance, and his cries of agony shattering the silence around him. Involuntarily he writhed and turned carefully onto his back, hissing through his teeth.

His eyebrows were crushed together; beads of sweat were gathered upon his creased brow. He felt a few tears escape, and took a ragged breath. He was trying as much as he could to settle into his new position, lying flat on his back, starring up into the starless sky.

He laid there recovering a moment, before moving his trembling hand towards his belt, focusing all his attention on his mission.

'_Please be there…please'_ he pleaded, letting his long fingers graze the leather cell phone case that hung on his hip still intact. He pulled the phone upwards looking at it with hopeful eyes, and a ghostly smile curved the corners of his lips.

His shaky fingers carefully unlatched his broken helmet pushing it off gently, and he blinked rapidly as rain drops began to fall steadily into his eyes. The cool water pelted his body, washing away the blood that had accumulated on the surface of his skin.

'_Great. Just when I thought things couldn't get worse'_ He groaned inwardly.

A cold chill slid down his spine causing him to involuntarily shiver, goose bumps prickling down the lengths of his arms and legs.

Trying hard he focused his eyes, and let his thumb press 1 on his speed dial.

He was holding his breath now, praying silently to a God he didn't believe in.

'_God, please pick up Wilson'_ he begged. _'Please pick up'_

It was ringing, but he could feel his hopes crumble as it stopped abruptly.

"Shit!" he cursed hoarsely.

His fingers dial again only to have it obviously cancelled from the other side. It was just as it had been before, and he knew Wilson was purposefully ignoring him.

He did not resign, he continued on, persistence growing. He was determined, and once again he dialed.

'_Of all the times to be a stubborn ass don't let it be now'_ he scolded.

The ringing recommenced again and he felt a release of built up tension when he heard the exasperated and disgruntled sigh coming through the speaker.

"Wilson?" he asked, though he was stating the name with relief more than delivering a question.

Another frustrated groan sounded as his friend sleepily began to reply.

"Look, can't you take a hint?" he growled impatiently, wiping a hand across his face as he continued "I don't know what you want House, but I don't really want to talk to you right now."

"I…I need…I need your help. I had a…"

"Help…you want M-Y help? I thought you made it VERY clear that help was the last thing that you wanted from me, or was I mistaken? Because I could have SWORN that's exactly why we haven't been speaking to each other" Wilson spat with sarcasm.

"Jimmy…" House pleaded. "…I need you to listen to me!"

"No House, YOU need to listen" Wilson interrupted sternly, looking over at his alarm clock as he did so. "Do you have any idea what time it is? Do you think you can just treat me like crap, and then just like that you decide to call me up in the middle of the night and expect me to help you?... God House, I…I just don't know what to do with you anymore!" he hissed exasperated.

"I mean what is it now? Did you run out of your damn pills, and had to come crawling back to your supplier? Half the time I honestly don't know if you want to be my friend or if you're just messing with me, or using me to get your fix. By the way you've treated me lately I sure don't feel like I'm considered your friend."

House noticeably flinched as he listened to the younger mans ranting. Even though he thought the words sounded insignificant in the present circumstances, he still found himself uttering them anyway.

"I'm sorry."

Wilson closed his eyes. His hand pinching the bridge of his nose, while trying his best to stay composed.

"You know Greg" he muttered flatly. "You're always sorry and sometimes sorry just isn't enough."

The tension was so thick, House had a feeling it could be cut with a knife. He felt tightness around his heart but he knew it wasn't produced by anything physical.

"I…I mean it. I really am sorry, for everything." He responded quietly "but I really do need your help and if you would…"

"Just shut up House…" Wilson sighed. "I told you not to push this friendship till it breaks and I… I just…you keep testing me; it's like a game to you. I can't keep going on at this rate, I'm tired. These past weeks have been…I just…" Wilson sounded almost defeated, and his words trailed off into nothing.

House could feel a twinge of anxiety and panic starting to rise up inside him as the full impact of the statements began to quickly sink in.

'_He doesn't mean it'_ he tells himself.

He shifted slightly trying to press the phone closer to his ear, inhaling deeply as he did so.

"Shit!" he hissed, jarring the injury to his ribs.

He cursed several times and held his arm firmly across his abdomen. His muscles were tensing up painfully, and he felt the pain intensifying in a chaotic sadistic rhythm.

Wilson's voice was calling to him from the speaker, and he let the voice comfort him as a sob grudgingly escaped his lips. His nimble fingers gripped the phone tighter, trying to hear over the roar of the rain.

"Jimmy…" he wept brokenly "Jimmy…it's getting worse!"

Wilson paled visibly when he heard Houses tormented cries. His previous anger had completely faded into the back recesses of his mind; he was completely fixated on his friend's choked sobs. His heart was racing, and the sound of weeping continued.

'_Greg never lets his emotions manifest openly to anyone, especially in the form of tears, something's wrong!'_ his mind screamed.

"House?...House what the hell is going on?!" he solicited with growing worry.

He kicked the sheets off his boxer clad body, climbing out of bed, searching frantically for his pants, pulling them sloppily over his hips.

"Wilson…I'm sorry, I…I didn't want to push you…Oh God it hurts!" House hissed through clinched teeth.

"I'm coming over…I'll be there in ten minutes Greg!" Wilson exclaimed as he grabbed his keys from the night stand and proceeded to stumble ungracefully out of his hotel room.

"Tell me what hurts, is it your leg?

"No, and I'm… I'm not at my apartment" House choked, trying desperately to catch his breath.

'_Calm down'_ he scolded. He knew that his rapid breathing was inflicting unnecessary discomfort upon himself.

"What? Then where are you? I'm in my car now I need to know where to go" Wilson explained while starting the engine of his silver Volvo, and pulling out onto the road.

House tilted his head to look around at his surroundings, trying to fight the rain that was pouring down in a blur. The headlight of his motorcycle was still shinning allowing him to read the mile marker that stood a few yards away.

"I'm on the Brunswick Pike" House whispered with confidence.

"What do you mean on the Brunswick Pike? That's not real specific. Are you at a… "No…" House interrupted "I'm on the road; I…I think I can see the 16th mile marker if the rains not…distorting the numbers."

"What! What are doing there?" Wilson asked confused, searching for some sort of understanding into his friend's situation.

"Hit and run" House rasped "was on the bike"

"Oh God!" Wilson gasped in shock, his car weaving out of his lane momentarily.

He pressed the accelerator harder, urging his car to go faster than he normally would dare. He took a moment to summon his voice before asking the question that he was afraid of knowing the answer to.

"How's your leg?"

"I…I'm not sure. It's still here…but hurts like hell" House grunted.

Grabbing his chest he cursed under his breath. He could feel his body shaking uncontrollably, but whether it was from shock or the cold, or maybe even a mixture of both he couldn't quite say for certain.

He felt his mind swimming, the pounding in his head continued incessantly. His lips pursed into a thin line, and he squeezed his eyes closed tighter in efforts to keep the falling rain from penetrating.

"Wilson?" House whispered in a tone that was clearly seeking reassurance.

The young Oncologist snapped out of his chaotic thoughts, forgetting that he had drifted into silence. "I'm almost there; I can see marker number 14."

"Ok, just don't h…hit me" House replied, trying unsuccessfully to distract himself with humor, though it's morbid flare was unappreciated.

"That's not even funny!" Wilson responded appalled, his face contorted with an expression that clearly read 'I'm not amused.' He swallowed hard, his foot moving to the brake. He was slowing down as his destination neared.

House could fill a coppery taste filling the back part of his throat and he knew very well what it was.

"I…I can taste blood."

Wilson paled and his heart pounded harder against his chest, fear was squeezing him in a vise.

"Can you tell where it's coming from? Maybe, maybe it's just a tooth or your…"No" House choked.

"I can feel it; it's internal."

"Just One more mile, hang on House." Wilson replied, trying to not let his voice crack with worry.

There was a repetitive beep coming from the speaker, and when no reply came Wilson grew more nervous.

"House?" he asked hesitantly, but there was nothing but a steady dial tone in response.

"Stupid battery" House hissed, letting the phone drop from his hand and clatter to the ground next to him.

'_It's OK' he encouraged himself 'Wilson's coming, he's almost here.'_

He smiled; he could hear the low humming sound of a familiar engine purring through the loud patter of pelting rain. He looked to the side, staring out across the road, his eyes filled with relief. The headlights of his friends Volvo were mirrored in the water that had been collecting in pools atop the slick pavement..

Wilson's muscles tensed, he could see the blurry light from Houses mangled motorcycle straight ahead. He was watching carefully, peering out past the windshield wipers trying to see through the rain as he pulled up to the scene.

His eyes locked quickly on the dark figure sprawled out on the pavement drenched and unmoving. He was out of his vehicle in a mad rush not bothering to turn off the engine. He ran quickly through the rain towards the body that lay in the headlights of his car, his breath hitching painfully in his chest at the sight before him.

"House!" he called out, both knees buckling, bringing him down beside his best friend.

Two piercing blue eyes appeared from underneath heavy lids and wet bangs. It was obvious that both held visible relief, and Wilson watched as a forced smile tugged briefly at his lips.

"Hey Jimmy" House whispered.

Wilson could hear the effort and pain in that voice, and tears pricked at his eyes.

He grasped his friends' hand, feeling a shiver run down his spine as the cold flesh made contact with his warm skin. He tried to secure an arm around the older man, but he found himself regretting the action quickly.

House's face tightened, and his hands griped firmly to his forearms causing Wilson flinched painfully, as the older mans nails started to dig in deep cutting him slightly.

"H…hurts…hurts s…bad!" He gasped breathless "ribs…broken."

"I'm sorry…I didn't mean to..." Wilson apologized in distress.

House looked into Wilson's worried eyes, the same sienna eyes that had held such hurt and anger the past few weeks and he felt the guilt rising up all over again.

"No, I'm the one…that's sorry" he corrected.

Wilson looked down nervously "Let's forget about it right now, alright?"

"One more thing, Just in case though." House whispered "I wanted you to know that…I…I didn't mean what I said…the other night…I, I was being a jerk as always."

"Forgive me?" he added brokenly.

Wilson nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat "I never could stay mad at you. You're a manipulative bastard remember" Wilson replied.

House smirked as playfully as he could "and you're a wuss."

Wilson let a soft chuckle escapes his lips; he sobered up though when House took a shallow breath. He looked up at his car and then back at his friend worriedly.

"I'm going to have to move you." he stated with remorse. He locked gazes with House's eyes in away that appeared to be searching for permission from within their depths.

"It's going to hurt you." He whispered.

House nodded in understanding.

"I know" he replied quietly, looking at the younger man who was obviously distressed about the idea of inflicting pain on his friend.

"I…I can handle it" he reassured. He tossed Wilson an unconvincing smile, knowing that he would not remember the next few moments. He could feel it happening, it was almost like he was being pulled deeper into his mind. Unconsciousness was summoning him to retreat from the pain. He took one last glance at Wilson as his vision started to fade.

"Home James" he rasped, a final smirk barely creasing his lips as his eye lids fell closed.

'_At least now…' _he thought to himself_ '…If I'm going to die. It won't be alone'_ this is what comforted him as his body began to relax, becoming limp in Wilson's arms.

Panic seized the younger man. He watched his friend's eyes roll back and close, the hands that had been griping him so tightly went slack.

"House…Greg?!" he shouted.

"Don't you dare do this to me you selfish limping bastard!"

His tears were lost with the falling rain as he took his shaking fingers and pressed them to the older mans thin neck, praying silently as he did so. He let the breath he was holding hiss out in relief, because a slight rhythm beat against his finger tips. His friend was still there, still with him.

TBC…

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Cliffhanger……..I'm evil! It's revenge to all you other writers out other that do it to me all the time lol!


	3. Silent Contemplations

**Chapter 3: Silent Contemplations**

Wilson staggered into his office, shutting the door behind him. He wanted, no, he needed to get away.

He could feel his knees buckling underneath him, letting his body slide down the wall, coming to rest on the floor by his desk. He hugged his knees close with one arm, and let the other cradle his face.

He was alone. He could loose control now. His body began to shake from his anguished sobs as he let the overwhelming emotions and vulnerability that he was feeling manifest without restraint. Tears slipped down freely, leaving visible proof of the hurt that was pouring out of his soul.

"Why?" he whispered out to no one, wiping the back of his sleeve across his eyes.

He sat a moment, his body trembling as he stared intently at the dried blood that ruined his t-shirt. He could feel his stomach churning when he thought of whom it belonged to.

He had been so scared. He could still remember standing in the ER as he listened to the fear inducing pitch of a flat line. Cuddy had been there with him, holding him back as he fought against the emotions that were calling him to run to his friend's side. He had cried then too. Fear and pain had coursed through him during those moments. He watched the doctors and nurses rushing past him with a crash cart trying to bring the man that lay before them back. His face had turned pale, and his lips began to fade into a bluish hue, making a stark contrast to the red blood that had dried at the corners. He had been dead for over 3 minutes.

'_Dead'_ Wilson thought.

'_House had died'_ he let those words sink in, repeatedly echoing throughout his mind. He visualized the time they had been using the paddles. He could still hear the nurse shouting 'Clear!' He could still feel himself jump each time they sent a charge straight into his friend's heart.

A pang of guilt struck him hard while he was recalling what had happened. Foolish pride had almost cost them both; angry words could have been the last things they had ever spoken to each other.

Pushing his damp bangs away from his eyes, he sighed, letting his head lay back against the wall. They had been lucky tonight. House was now lying unconscious in ICU recovering from the ordeal, and Wilson sat alone, trying not to remember what his friend had looked like when he had found him. Fate was cruel though, and the images were etched on the back of his eyelids letting the memories haunt him every time he closed his eyes.

Reaching into his pocket he pulled out two white tablets Cuddy had given him, she had insisting he take them so that he could calm down and get some sleep, telling him he "Looked like Hell"

Tossing them in his mouth, he dried swallowed, cringing at the bitter taste as they went down.

'_Is this what vicodin tastes like?'_ He asked himself disgusted. He sure hoped not, for if it was he didn't know how House kept a straight face when taking them.

He smiled slightly. He'd do almost anything at this moment to see House limping down the hall, openly flaunting his habit. He always popped his pills at the most inappropriate or comical times.

'_He loves to be dramatic'_ he thought affectionately. _'Even had to end our fighting with a big dramatic scene worthy of General Hospital' _

He sighed, his eyes feeling heavy, his tired muscles slowly starting to relax as he sat in quiet contemplation. The ticking of the clock on the apposing wall seemed to sing him a lullaby, its constant rhythm lulling him to sleep.

That's how Cuddy found him, curled up in a corner, his head resting slightly on his knees. She could hear the soft even breaths that told her he was sleeping.

She smiled sadly, watching his face a moment, looking at the tear tracks that stood out amongst the dirt smudges. His clothes were dirty and stained beyond salvation. She could tell that they were still damp, that the oncologist by all reasoning should be cold.

Letting a soft sigh pass her lips, she moved forward into the room, retrieving the small blanket that lay on the back of the couch. Gently, she wrapped it around his shoulders, trying hard not to awaken the sleeping man.

Memories flooded into her mind as stood there in the darkness, she could still hear the phone ringing, her smooth fingers wrapping around the receiver, bringing it to rest underneath her ear, while continuing to flip through the files on her desk.

It had been Brenda. She was working the ER shift at the time. Her voice had been thick and uncertain.

"Dr. Wilson just called" she spoke hesitantly.

"He told us to prepare the OR for his arrival and…and to tell you to meet him down here right away."

Confusion had quickly risen up, joined with threads of worry at the nurses tone.

"What happened? What did he say?"

As Brenda spoke she froze. 'House' that was the only word she heard, it echoed over and over for a moment, followed by 'Hit and run', 'motorcycle' and that was when the numbness washed over her body, her blood pulsing loudly in her ears.

She didn't remember hanging up, nor running down the hall in her red stilettos, but what she does remember she wishes she didn't.

Her head of Oncology's haggard form burst through the ER doors in hot pursuit of the gurney that was carrying her diagnostician. There was a blur of doctors and nurses rushing past, and she felt disconnected, her mind blank with shock, yet still her body followed the chaos none-the-less.

Moment's later her heart stop just as House's did. She instinctively pulled the crumbling oncologist into her arms; his still rain drenched clothes were transferring their wetness to her own, though she didn't mind. She just held him as they stood there in pained silence, hidden amidst the shadows, waiting…

Now, she was here two hours later. In the quiet of his office, watching his vulnerable face, his brown eyes trapped underneath heavy lids as he wondered amidst a drugged sleep.

She knew House was a friend of hers also, and despite the torment, testing, and all the bickering and sarcasm there was a man that resided deep inside the bastard that she deeply admired and cared for. She knew her feelings couldn't compare to those in which the oncologist held for him, they had been friends far longer, so much history passing between them. Sadly, the last two weeks had been long, and she had thought on several occasions that maybe their relationship had reached rock bottom. She had wondered if their strange bond had finally been broken, shattered beyond repair. She had thought that maybe House had finally managed to push Wilson far.

Her answers came earlier, when she had seen the anguished expression distorting Wilson's features. She knew at that moment, without a shadow of doubt, that the bond was still there.

The two men were like two lost dogs; both had been kicked around, both had felt unwanted, but in the end they always seemed to find acceptance and comfort on each others doorsteps.

She hesitated for a moment longer before slipping out of the room, letting the door close slowly with a soft click. A sad smile formed across her lips, as she walked away, leaving Wilson alone with his dreams.

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	4. The Awakening

Disclaimer: don't own any of them huhuhu! Just use them for my own morbid amusement .

**Chapter 4: The Awakening**

House felt consciousness pulling him towards the surface of his mind.

'_Where am I?'_ he asked himself as he lay quietly, letting his mind push past his disconcertion and begin evaluating all the sensations that where being sent to his brain. One at a time he tried perceive all the feelings in his body, as well as the noises that surrounded him.

'_Hospital, I'm in a hospital'_ he concluded as memories fluttered around him.

He grimaced painfully, the throbbing in his leg and chest seemed to merge together cruelly keeping a steady rhythm with each other. A groan of discomfort came out audibly, and he shifted letting his eyes open slowly. He tried to focus on his surroundings, studying the machine that hummed beside him. His eyes searched its frame intently, he was on a mission.

'There you are' He declared to himself victoriously.

Lifting a shaky hand he tampered with the controls, an appreciative smile gracing his mouth briefly as the morphine dosage raised steadily a few notches. He breathed in shallowly, trying to brace himself as he adjusted his leg slightly. He inhaled sharply at the searing, which was then followed immediately by his chest protesting angrily.

"Shit!" he hissed clutching the sheets in a vice grip. His eyes were pressed tightly shut, curbing any of the water that had suddenly gathered at the corners from spilling out.

'_God it hurts'_ he moaned inwardly.

The sound of footsteps tapped hurriedly across the room's tiled floors, coming to rest abruptly at House's side. He could feel someone's fingers entwine with his own, and a soft palm touched his brow, gently brushing back his tussled bangs. He knew those hands.

"House?…House can you hear me?"

The older man opened his eyes, this time taking in the haggard appearance of the younger Oncologist, his face a mixture of concern and exhaustion.

"Greg?"

House recoiled, a penlight suddenly flashing unmercifully into his pupils.

"Hey! Do you have to do that?!" he protested with a hiss.

"Sorry" Wilson apologized sympathetically, quickly lowering his hand, his brown eyes still locked on his friends blue orbs.

House observed the dark circles and worry lines that were ever present on the younger mans face, and he couldn't help but state the obvious.

"You look like hell Jimmy"

The corner of his mouth curled up ever so slightly, hoping that the remark would end the silent tension that was smothering him at the moment. He watched closely, waiting for the reaction he desired.

'_Bingo'_ he thought smugly, as the younger mans face relaxed. He could see the twinge of a smile appear, followed quickly with a half-hearted retort.

"You shouldn't be one to judge, I mean you need to take a look at yourself in a mirror"

"Hmmmpff!" House grunted, regarding Wilson who now stood, head bowed slightly as he inhaled a steady breath.

"You had me worried" he murmured, lifting his head to eyeball his friend through his sandy bangs.

"You always worry" House mocked playfully, trying to elude the serious conversation that was evidently being tossed in his direction.

Wilson just snorted. "We'll if I didn't worry about you, who would?"

Letting his voice grow more serious he continued "Seriously House, I just want to know how you're feeling?"

"I'm fine" House muttered in resignation, using his fingers to locate his bed controls.

Steadily he let the head of the bed raise some, allowing him to sit up as comfortably as possible. Seeing the skeptical expression that still inhabited his friends face, he gestured over to the near by machine.

"I upped my morphine" he disclosed "I was hurting like the devil when I woke up"

Wilson seemed to be satisfied with the explanation, his head nodding faintly in response.

House eyed him a moment before looking down at his hands, which mindlessly twisted and fumbled with the sheets that covered him.

Hesitantly he asked the question that was plaguing him "How… how bad?"

"What?" Wilson replied befuddled, looking up to see that his friend wasn't looking at him.

House swallowed, lifting his head to meet his friends gaze. "The accident I mean?"

Realization hit the oncologist hard "Ooh!..."

"Well, Dr. Brightman said that four of your ribs were broken, You were bleeding internally, it was from a small tear in your spleen. They took you into surgery shortly after we arrived and were able to repair the damage without having to remove it, he said there would be no permanent damage. They also gave you a transfusion for the blood loss, Brightman did a good job."

Wilson was almost fidgeting under the intense gaze that was boring in to him. It was then that he saw it. It was deep within the blue depths, but it was there, a look of trepidation masked behind a wall of stone. Wilson mentally kicked himself for not knowing his friend better.

"Your leg will be fine House" he spoke confidently, giving an encouraging smile as he continued. "You didn't lose any function in it. It took a beating and several hours to stitch up, but it's going to be fine."

The diagnostician nodded in understanding, and relief spread visibly across his face.

They both sat in awkward silence, each contemplating different things, both recalling the memories of the night before.

Wilson's face began to darken with a deepening frown, and this didn't thwart the attention of his observant friend.

'_I hate it when he looks like that'_ he mumbled to himself.

House looked away, trying to think of something to say that would remedy the present situation; that would erase the look of suffering that had cast a shadow over the younger mans entire countenance. He was never very good at emotions, comfort, or sympathy.

'_It seems I'm crippled in more ways than one'_ he mused bitterly, growing more flustered and squeamish as the silence became almost unbearable.

"You look as if you just had your dog run over by a car" he stated matter-of-factly, trying to get Wilson to tell him the meaning behind the distant, and somewhat woeful look that had come to reside in his brown depths.

Wilson scowled; his eyes narrowing slightly, causing House to noticeably squirm under the intense gaze.

"That's not funny!" he spouted appalled.

A dismayed and exasperated sound escaped him as he quickly stood up straight from his leaning position by the bed. He turned his back away slightly, wiping a hand across his face in frustration.

He felt so damned emotional now, and he knew he was also trying to conceal the tears that threatened to fall if he continued to face his friend. Bitterly he spoke again.

"You may think referring to yourself as my dog is funny, but it's not"

Houses eyebrows rose, startled as he realized that there had been a misinterpretation of his words. Recovering, his lips spread into somewhat of an amused smile. "That's not what I meant; though I have to admit it sounds like something I'd say"

Houses smile began to fade as his friend continued to just stand there in silence, his shoulders sagging forward slightly.

"I just wanted to know what you were thinking" he assured. "I know, I should have just said penny for your thoughts, or some other cheesy crap..." Growling at no one but himself, he pinched the bridge of his nose and muttered an "I suck at this." into the air.

Wilson inhaled shakily. "I…I was just thinking…remembering last night, this morning, things, you know…all of this." he started, waving his hands about as he tried to express himself over his stumbling words. He cursed himself when his voice cracked slightly.

"How about we just forget about it, it's over with now" House replied in a low voice trying to get his companion to move on to a new train of thought, one that preferably would be less dramatic…less angsty.

Wilson turned to look over his shoulder his gaze locking with House's

"How can you think it's that easy?" he asked, grief reflected clearly in his eyes. House couldn't stand the look he was being given, and averted his gaze almost shamefully.

Wilson moved forward to stand by the bed again, not letting the severed eye contact prevent him from pushing forward.

"I…I watched you die, I can't just press the delete button."

House regarded his friend with a slightly bewildered expression, finding himself dumbfounded by the man's last response.

"But I didn't die, I…"You did!" Wilson interrupted his voice escalating. "You flat lined in the ER. You were unresponsive for three minutes" he choked woefully.

House swallowed and nodded "I didn't know" he murmured, trying in vain to disguise his obvious surprise at the newly unveiled information.

'_I died'_ he thought as he regarded the man before him with an uncharacteristically amount of concern "I'm sorry"

Wilson's shoulders started to tremble as he cried. Inwardly he tried repeatedly to regain composure, to keep from showing such weakness.

'_God I'm weak'_ he cursed himself in disdain.

He was startled when he felt a hand grasp his own, and glanced up to meet the unusually sympathetic expression of his best friend. House tugged Wilson closer, motioning for the man to sit beside to him. Hesitantly he complied, though it was evident that he was being careful not to disturb any of his friend's injuries.

House's mind was racing. _'What the hell do I do?'_ he questioned himself _'I suck at this whole consoling thing.'_

When Wilson's tormented expression continued without ceasing, he did the only thing he could think of, physical contact. Lifting his hand, he placed it on the younger man's shoulder squeezing it reassuringly. That's all it took. Wilson broke down, his silent tears becoming an audible weeping.

At the pitiful sounds of grief House instinctively pulled the man downward, allowing Wilson's head to press into his shoulder. He grimaced as the added pressure of his friend's weight caused his ribs to protest. He was uncomfortable, suffering, and he needed to reposition his body, but he willed himself not to move. His arms moved cautiously to encircle the distressed man.

'_He needs me'_ he thought _'and for once I'll be there'_

His decision he knew was fuelled by their past argument, the one that had left them in silent contempt the past few weeks. He recalled Wilson's face that night, it had a kaleidoscope of emotions running across it all at once; anger, frustration, suffering, to name a few, though the worst had been the betrayal and the hurt.

He had been a particularly selfish bastard the past few months, of course, he usually was, but this was different. He had let the stress from the circumstances with Tritter pile up on him, and no one else seemed to matter at the time, not even Wilson.

He could still hear the anger dripping from Wilson's voice as his friend shouted at him in the living room of his apartment. Wilson had come over in need of a friend, he was miserable, he was alone. When he had entered the apartment he did not find the friend he was searching for, but instead found House drunk wallowing in his own self pity, mocking the younger mans problems as if they weren't important. Wilson had suppressed the urge to deck him, and settled for ripping his cane from his fingers, and in one fluid motion sent it flying across the room into the bookcase on the far wall.

"I can't take this any more!" he shouted brokenly. "I have sacrificed EVERYTHING trying to keep you out of jail, to keep this screwed up friendship going, and you just stand there and mock me."

"You're a selfish, arrogant bastard, but 'I' stupid as it may sound give a damn about you! God knows why!" He railed, tossing his hands up in frustration. "I'm not going to hang around anymore clinging to false hopes and broken promises. You're not there for me, you're NEVER there, and I'm sick of it! I'm sick of YOU!"

House visibly flinched as he remembered the sound of his door slamming shut, his eyes staring at the place where his only friend had stood moments before with a look of absolute defeat sprawled across his features. House would never admit to it, but he had wept that night; wept because deep down he knew that was the last time his friend would walk through those doors. The days that passed since the fall out were simply a result of stubborn pride.

House tilted his head slightly so that he could see Wilson's face as it rested on his shoulder, tear tracks still present, yet now drying. His soft even breaths told him that he had fallen asleep. He was partially relieved for the younger man. He knew that he was exhausted both physically and emotionally, but the other part of him cursed himself as it became apparent that where pain was concerned his current position was going to come back and bite him hard in the ass.

As if confirming his fears a sharp spasm began coursing down his leg, and he hissed as he fought to keep his body from writhing. He instinctively wanted to curl into a fetal position, his arms protectively encircled around the damaged thigh, but he was determined not to disturb his friend.

He let the fingers of his right hand dig deep into the damaged skin, he gritted his teeth stifling the cry that he wanted to release from deep within him_. 'Just a little longer'_ he encouraged _'it will pass; it always does' _

The surface of his pallid skin was covered with a thin layer of perspiration. Slowly the spasm began to recede before calming into a more tolerable ache, leaving the older man panting, strength spent.

With a groan he tried to angle his body into a more tolerable position, though he knew it was a futile effort. Closing his eyes tight, he tried to think of something besides his discomfort.

Hiding pain was an art form in which he had mastered through the years; only on a few occasions did he fail. Right now for Wilson's sake he would put on his best show.

Biting his lip, he tried to let his head relax and come to rest on the crown of his friends head. Slowly he let his eyes fall closed, listening intently to the soft breaths that swept awkwardly past his neck. A pained yet comforted smile curled his lips briefly as he felt the slight beating of Wilson's heart against him, giving him reassurance that he was for now not alone. Wilson had come back. He still had his friend, and this time he would work harder to keep him.

Fin


End file.
